


We've Lived Long Enough to have Learned

by vextant



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Canon Compliant, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vextant/pseuds/vextant
Summary: At the end of Civil War, Bucky Barnes takes a semi-automatic rifle from Natasha Romanov's locker on the quinjet. It's subsequently destroyed in Siberia; he's hoping she doesn't notice.Two years later, when Steve touches down in Wakanda with Natasha and the rest of his team in tow, Barnes is there to greet them. She gives him a new rifle with the same modifications as the last.He wonders what else she remembers.





	We've Lived Long Enough to have Learned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natasharomanovs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natasharomanovs/gifts).



> A (very late) gift for natasharomanovs, based on a combination of prompts:
> 
> 1\. Bucky and Nat remembering each other in current MCU canon  
> 2\. Insight into Bucky’s feeling for Nat (anything from his POV)
> 
> Apologies for the delay, hope you enjoy this "missing scene" from Infinity War! <3

Bucky watches the quinjet land from a safe distance. He’s far enough that T’Challa and Okoye don’t notice him hovering as they approach, but close enough to see the remains of the Avengers disembark. 

It’s sort of bittersweet to see Steve at the head of a team again. Not that Bucky isn’t pleased to see him, it’s certainly been a while, but it’s a sudden, heavy-handed reminder of the last time he came to face-to-face with Steve’s team. He can’t help but the hard line between something like them and something like him — namely, that they  _ are _ something. It’s evident in the way they walk together, the way they stand together, how, despite everything that happened in Siberia, they are a  _ unit _ . 

He knows in the back of his mind that he was on a team like that once, with Steve. It was a long time ago, and there are pieces of the story that he knows will probably never be recovered. His memory is like a sandblasted monument. The foundation is there, and with some attention he can tell its basic shape, but much of what made it art — colors, finely carved details, the illusion of life — is lost to time. He half-remembers the War in the same way that most people half-remember the picture books that were read to them as children, unsure of what is fact and what is only ideation. Still. He once had a team. 

But that was a long time ago. 

T’Challa glances his way as he leads the Dora and the Avengers back towards the palace.

Before he can hesitate, Bucky finds himself putting him on a smile and making his way over. He quips about his age and his semi-stability; Sam Wilson watches him with lingering distrust. Bucky knows he’s earned that look. And no matter how bad he wants to make amends, trust has to come later — they’ve got the Apocalypse on Wakanda’s doorstep to deal with.

Steve greets him with open arms. Over his shoulder, Natasha Romanoff is also watching, scanning him bottom to top. It’s not a cold or distant look, just . . . neutral. Observational. 

Between his own past and her release of her own personnel file the day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, Bucky knows that he won’t see anything that she doesn’t want him to see. Still, he feels the need to perform, to mask himself again in front of her. He remembers the uncertain terms of their last meeting, when she allowed him and Steve to “escape” to Siberia. 

“How you been, Buck?”

“Uh.” What is he supposed to say? There’s no time to weigh down the situation with any extra melancholy. He saw the state the Vision was as they half-helped him off the quinjet. “Not bad. For the end of the world.”

It makes Steve smile. Romanoff and Wilson’s expressions don’t change. 

“My sister is waiting for us inside.” T’Challa gestures towards the doors. His tone is somewhere between a warm, courteous invitation and a direct order. Bucky doesn’t fault him for that, as the world is once again at war.

Just with aliens, this time. 

Steve turns to his team and nods in the direction of where the Vision is being helped inside. Sam Wilson takes another long look at the situation and says, “I’ll stay with the jet.”

Then Romanoff adds, “I’ll catch up with you inside, Rogers,” with a distinct glance in Bucky’s direction. It doesn’t seem to surprise Steve as much as it surprises Bucky.

“See you inside.” Steve nods. He glances to Bucky, and hesitates just long enough to make Bucky think he also needs to say something despite not being a member of the team. Bucky just nods. He can’t think of anything he’d want to say. 

The Avengers, minus Wilson and Romanoff (and notably Tony Stark, but Bucky quickly decides that’s not information that he’s interested in asking after), proceed inside. He’s left on the tarmac with the person who arguably hates him most in the world (after Tony Stark, of course) and Natasha Romanoff. 

For a moment the three of them just all watch each other. There’s nothing to say, no reason to speak to each other at all. They’re not friends. It’s necessity that’s brought them together, just like it was necessity that Romanoff let Bucky escape two years ago in Germany. 

Bucky wishes that he had something in his hands. Something to fiddle with. 

He opens and closes his left fist — the new arm is works perfectly after calibration, because Shuri’s the one who designed it, and Shuri has a brain like a data-bank, the likes of which Bucky’s only ever seen once or twice in his lifetime. 

Natasha Romanoff had a mind like that, at least in the way that Bucky remembers her. Not that she and Shuri are remotely comparable, because their competencies differ greatly, but they’re both easily among the sharpest people he’s ever met. Shuri has, despite her age, all but mastered a wide variety of scientific disciplines — biology, information technology, mechanical engineering. It’s her unique expertise in both neurology and computer networking that Steve and the other Avengers are seeking now. Help with the Vision’s . . . something. Whatever it is, Shuri is the best qualified to help.

As Bucky recalls, Romanoff is sharp in a quiet way, the same way that a knife doesn’t suddenly dull when it’s hidden from view. That’s what her intellect is, hidden but still dangerous. She is competent and deadly and no one will never know how much so until she turns her talents on them.

A memory starts to leak from the back of his mind. It spreads slow and sticky like molasses until all he can see is a harshly lit ballet studio, completely empty. It was a front. Practice meant training, and students were soldiers. One agent, in the right place at the right time, can change the course of history. The Red Room program was one of the USSR’s attempts to change it in their favor. The Winter Soldier program was another. 

He and Romanoff are both failed experiments, machines broken free from the masters that made them. Although, he hesitates at calling her a failure. Considering her defection, her release of thousands of terabytes of confidential data, and her general status as an Avenger, she’s quite easily one of the most successful wetwork operatives in history. He is . . . he hasn’t tried to kill anyone in a while, and he’s fairly confident that his mind is almost entirely now his own. 

Bucky shouldn’t be comparing himself to Romanoff anyhow. Though they shared a piece of their past once, their paths diverged a long time ago. Longer than a lifetime. 

He wonders how much she remembers. 

When he comes back to the present, he scans the tarmac to find that she’s entirely disappeared. It’s only Wilson now, and they make an accidental moment of prolonged, aggressive eye contact before Wilson turns away and stalks to the other side of the jet. 

“Hey.” Romanoff’s voice is gruff and right behind him. “I’ve got something for you.”

Bucky turns. Romanoff has a machine gun in her hands. Its size should dwarf her — the M249 is usually handled by squads — but she handles its weight with ease. It has nonstandard optics, a hundred-round magazine. 

He recognizes it immediately. 

It’s hard not to freeze, to stare and not move a muscle until he’s told otherwise. The tension is sliding back into his shoulders just thinking about it, but he forces himself to relax and let her set the terms for his interaction. Let her decide whether she’s going to tear him a new one for stealing (and subsequently destroying) her gear, or just shoot him where he stands. He’s oddly at peace with either option.    
  
“Heard you have good taste.” Romanoff says. She’s got one eyebrow up like she knows a secret. 

Bucky can’t think of what to say. He tries, “I’m sorry—”

“Steve told me what happened.” Her cutoff neither accepts or rejects his apology, which is something he can respect. When he and Steve landed in Siberia, they were walking right into almost certain combat. He needed a weapon. Hers were the most suitable. 

She stalks down the gangplank of the jet, in the same way that a CEO walks into a business meeting, the same way a lion leads her pride. He’s torn between accommodating her and standing his ground. 

He chooses not to move. 

Romanoff holds the M249 out to him. “I want it back in one piece this time.”

Bucky is suddenly, sharply aware that Wilson is standing under the wing to his left and hanging on every word. 

It’s not clear if Romanoff is offering him an olive branch or a test. He hesitates — the fingers in his left hand twitch and he knows that she’s seen it in the way she shifts her weight.

Wakandan weaponry is truly amazing. Spears, shields, knobkerries, things that Bucky would’ve thought as “primitive” before have been evolved and modified beyond his wildest imagination. Spears that can take down tanks, flexible shields that stop bullets, knobkerries that — well, Bucky’s seen firsthand what M’Baku can do. 

But if there’s anything he himself knows in combat, it’s firearms. The U.S. Army said he had a gift and put him through sharpshooter training; the Red Army turned around and had him train their own. He’s got his own mixed feelings about it.

The whole situation feels very close to T’Challa offering him the new arm. Now, like then, the threat is real, brewing just over the horizon, coming closer and closer with each minute. And now, like then, it feels as if he doesn’t really have a choice. 

He takes the gun. 

It’s not as weighty as he expected. He settles his right hand into the grip. “Might just have to keep the optics for myself.”   
  
“One piece, Barnes.” Romanoff is almost smiling at him. He wants to grin back but swallows it down. After a pause, she adds, “You used to train whole crews, you know.”

He knows, but he doesn’t exactly remember until he hears her say it. 

“When they weren’t using you to drill hand-to-hand, you used to supervise machine gun training.”

The whole conversation is thrown into focus. The M249 was most likely an olive branch after all; this is definitely the test. 

She wants to know how much he remembers without outright asking; which could mean that she’s not divulged all of her own past to her teammates. It’s a give-and-take, a strategy, like djambi or chess. 

“The kids,” he can see the recognition in her eyes that she tries to tamper down, “Kids were smaller. Faster.”

He remembers her, younger, red hair pulled back high and tight, sitting cross-legged with a dissected rifle on a white cloth in front of her. The Madam stands over the whole room of girls with a stopwatch in her hand. The Soldier always stood beside her, silent as the grave. 

_ Now back together. _ Bucky can hear the old crone’s voice, clear as day.  _ Twenty seconds _ . 

Natalia was the fastest. 

“Not much of a kid now, are you?” He jokes. It’s a test of his waters, to see if the waters are too cold or too stormy. Not that he could blame her for that sort of demeanor — it  _ is _ the end of the world.

It makes her smile: a small, genuine thing that gets swallowed up as the Quinjet gangplank closes behind them. “Careful, old man, I’ll kick your ass.”

Bucky’s trying to think of a smooth way to mention the whole aliens-and-impending-doom being the most direct dibs on kicking everyone’s collective ass when Romanoff’s and Wilson’s wristwatches light up and chirp simultaneously. 

“Cap’s beeping for you, Nat.” Wilson says before she even has a chance to look down. He’s suddenly standing much closer; Bucky briefly wonders what he makes of the conversation he just overheard. 

“Guess I better go see what he wants.” Romanoff looks Bucky over one last time. “One piece, Barnes.”

Maybe it’s not the gun she’s talking about. That sort of thinking seems too hopeful, however — they might have a lot to discuss, they might not. With how this new threat’s shaping up, they might never get the chance. 

A chance is exactly what this feels like. But a chance for what?

He gives her a two-finger salute. The gun is a comforting weight in his other hand — familiar, but not his. A loaner, even if he’s not quite clear on the terms and conditions. “Understood.”

**Author's Note:**

> > Djambi is a "Machiavellian chess", a chess-like board game based around political principles.  
> > Title adapted from Billy Joel's 'A Matter of Trust'
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, have a great day!


End file.
